


Your Eyes Can Be So Cruel

by TheQuietWings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Blanket Permission, Communication, Good Older Sibling Dean Winchester, Good Older Sibling Michael (Supernatural), Good Person Lucifer (Supernatural), Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Michael/Adam Milligan, No Smut, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Hell Trials Sam Winchester, Sleepy Cuddles, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), or at least he's trying, relatively anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29947059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQuietWings/pseuds/TheQuietWings
Summary: Set in an AU of season 9 (which I may or may not ever write) where Lucifer, Michael, and Adam got freed from the Cage and went to join up with Team Free Will (and also where Hallucifer and Lucifer aren't the same, because fuck that noise.)Sam was beginning to see that there were complications inherent in loving someone who was responsible for more than half of his trauma. And by 'beginning to see', he meant that he was being hit very hard in the face with it on a daily basis. And Lucifer? Lucifer was still getting used to this whole 'caring about other people' thing.
Relationships: Adam Milligan & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Michael & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 9





	Your Eyes Can Be So Cruel

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Within You by David Bowie, and look, if you've seen Labyrinth, you know Exactly why it's a good song for these two
> 
> If my friend finds out I wrote this, she'll probably murder me in my sleep. So if you see this. Hi? Please don't kill me.

It was Sam who initiated it. He knew that was what Lucifer preferred, that Sam come to him, willingly. Sam also knew how incredibly fucked up that sounded, considering... everything, but he was starting to come to terms with the fact that there was no way this relationship was going to happen where it wasn’t fucked up in some way. But it _was_ happening and Sam was along for the ride. At least this time around, he’d made the conscious decision to get on this bus of insane hell trauma.

He was still feeling what road this was going down. Whatever this was, here, with the Lucifer that was still a monster, but not the one Sam’s mind had created or that the Cage had created. Both, maybe, because there were places human souls weren’t meant to go and Hell preyed on guilt and fear above all else. Sam had plenty to spare when he fell in.

The Lucifer that had been burned into his head was not real.

The Lucifer touching him now was.

It was easier to remember when he was silent. He’d smiled like a self-satisfied cat when Sam pulled him into bed, and Sam had tried to kiss it off him, to no success. It was Sam’s choice, every step and kiss and stolen moment where he told himself again that this was real, but it felt like Lucifer’s plan. He leaned into every touch a second too soon.

Sam was leaned back against the wall and two lumpy pillows. Lucifer moved into his lap like it was land unconquered but well-traveled. The weight of him was grounding, almost, and Sam didn’t have to strain himself to draw him in for more kissing. He’d learned, quickly, that no matter how enthusiastic he got, his body tended to disagree later. He didn’t feel like ending up curled painfully in his bed tomorrow, waiting for his bones and skin to stop their open rebellion against his nerves. _One day_ , Lucifer promised, often, because he was allowed into Sam’s space now when he was wracked with pain to ease what he could with his presence, _the marks the Trials left on you will be negligible_. But not gone. Never gone.

He was a bit like an open experiment for Lucifer to poke and prod for reactions. It was not the body that he was exploring. A human body was easily memorized, but the soul inside, the driver of every twitch and gasp, _Sam_ , was worthy of his curiosity. He ran a hand through Sam’s hair, chuckled when Sam tipped his head back to enjoy it. He drew two fingers over Sam’s forehead, tracing worry lines and then smoothing out the furrow of Sam’s brow that he hadn’t even realized was forming.

It wasn’t what Sam would necessarily classify as arousing. He wasn’t in any hurry, though, allowed Lucifer to tilt his head left and kiss the corner of his mouth, up his cheek. It should be condescending (and a little terrifying, to have all that bright, sharp focus on him), but Sam has had very few people touch him that gently and none of them with the reverence that Lucifer managed. Sam still wasn’t sure if Lucifer was capable of love, but if this was all he could ever give, then Sam would soak it up shamelessly.

Sam’s neck was equally as worthy of study, apparently, and he huffed out a surprised laugh at the slow glide of fingers down to the hollow of his throat. The sound made Lucifer pause. He repeated the action, exactly as he had before, and seemed disappointed to not be granted the same reaction as before. He contented himself instead by finding Sam’s pulse. The path he drew then followed his carotid artery, found an old and faded scar from a vampire long dead.

Sam’s shirt got in the way of further inspection, and Lucifer’s hands drifted over the collar, waiting. Sam sat up to pull it off, bringing back that smugly pleased smile to Lucifer’s face. As though he had been at all subtle about what he was trying to get. Except, Sam thought, that he couldn’t really judge. Obvious or not, Lucifer got what he wanted, and what he wanted was Sam spread out under him, and completely vulnerable to-

Sam took a deep breath and reached up to pull Lucifer forward. He was as easy to kiss as he had been the very first time, and if anything was going to damn Sam, it would be that. Lucifer never told him that they were ‘made for each other’ anymore. He didn’t have to.

If the world was kinder, maybe Sam would be allowed to have this without unwanted memories scratching at his door.

It wasn’t fair, that he could only ever have what he wanted in shattered pieces of glass on the floor. Here was the Apocalypse, and here was the Cage, and here was the Trials, and somewhere in the mess was the angel he wasn’t supposed to love but he cut his hands bloody trying to reach anyway. Even then, he could have this only in parts of the whole. The hallucination had shared his voice and his face and his touch, and Sam couldn’t pretend that the way his heart was thudding in his chest was wholly because of anticipation.

Lucifer broke the kiss to continue his exploration, to trace the lines of Sam’s tattoo with the tips of his fingers. Sam let his head fall back and focused on breathing. _Lie back and think of England_ , except that he wanted to be here, fully in his mind and body. It would get better, had to, if he could just get through this. That was the price, right? Because everything else with Lucifer had been, if not always easy, than natural, as though he’d known the steps to this dance his whole life. This was the struggle Sam had always expected, and he’d soldier through to the other side.

Lucifer bowed his head to kiss Sam’s chest, following the same path he’d already marked out with his hands. Hands that were sliding lower now, light with intent to tease, and Sam breathed. His eyes slid closed. Lucifer pressed down on his stomach, slow slide _over flesh-notflesh and laughter, always laughter, loud enough that if Sam were screaming, he wouldn’t be heard, but he’s not screaming, he can’t scream, he doesn’t even have a throat anymore_

“Sam?”

_because the only body he has left is one that’s there to rupture and tear and burn, and the hand isn’t on his stomach, it’s inside and pulling, wet and sickening, and Sam just hopes that’s all that comes this time_

“Sam.”

_not him being displayed again like a butterfly pinned on a board except he can still feel it, always feels it, and it’s never going to end_

He lashed out, fumbling and weak, _fighting back only made it worse_ , and when he shoved Lucifer’s shoulder, _get off get off get off_ , for a moment, he was unyielding. Only a moment and a moment too long, and even as he finally pulled away, Sam was shaking, gasping, digging his nails into the scar on his hand that _didn’t protect him anymore_ and hadn’t for years. A voice, saying (“Breathe. Let me- Sam.”) anything, everything, whatever it wanted, didn’t matter as long as Sam couldn’t escape, couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. (“I’m going to get your brother. I don’t know how to... I can’t help you.”)

Sam was alone.

Somehow, that was worse.

He almost had his breathing under control by the time Dean barged in. (No, he didn’t, not even close) He took one look at Sam, sitting hunched on the side of the bed, trying to make it stop, and he knew. No snappy comments, no taunting about Sam’s state of half-undress, not a word. Dean understood Hell.

Their lives were so incredibly fucked. Sam almost wanted to laugh.

It came out as some bitter choked thing. Dean sat beside him, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “Alright, Sammy, I got you,” he said, with a gentle tone Sam had thought he’d lost the privilege of hearing after Ruby. When they were kids, it meant Dean was going to do his damnedest to keep Sam safe. When his wall had broken, Dean had finally started using it again, couldn’t not with Sam breaking right in front of him, only now it meant ‘I failed, I couldn’t keep you safe, but I’m here now and god damnit, let that count for something, please.’

“We’re in the Bunker. Lebanon, Kansas.” He talked, and Sam listened to the familiar pattern of Dean’s voice, clinging to it like a drowning man to another person in the sea. “Cas and me are making dinner, nothing fancy, just lasagna. If I get back there and he’s burned it, I’m never letting him near the oven again. I mean, how the hell can he understand ingredients down to the molecular composition and not notice when the timer goes off.” Sam managed a real laugh that time, weak but real. Dean pat him on the back. “Kevin’s out for a while. And Adam’s... wherever he goes with-” Dean grimaced. “Yeah. You’re home, Sammy. Not in Hell. And when I figure out what the fuck that son of a bitch did to you to make you freak like this, I’m gonna skin him alive.”

“Wasn’t his fault.” Dean’s love languages were food and threats of violence. Not a day had gone by that he hadn’t made sure to remind Lucifer that if he fucked Sam up, he was getting Wicked Witch of the West’d by a bucket of holy oil. Sam had no idea how Dean thought he could actually keep that promise.

“Most of the bullshit we’ve gone through is his fault,” Dean argued, and Sam... honestly didn’t have a way of telling him he was wrong. Sam had also done enough horrible shit of his own that he had to believe Lucifer deserved to become better. (Because if he did, then maybe Sam did too, and maybe he could finally start to forgive himself) Dean believed that, too, even if it wasn’t Lucifer he wanted to keep giving second chances to. It seemed like part of being a Winchester meant getting saddled with your own angel and their unique brand of messed up.

“I think he was more scared of me than I was of him, actually,” Sam’s attempt at humor was flat and not at all true. Lucifer had looked... disturbed, before he vanished, but he hadn’t been the one halfway to screaming his throat raw.

“What you’re describing there is a snake, Sammy.” Dean pat his back again, the slow, steady rub down his spine that had calmed him down coming to a halt. “So either your sex life is a lot weirder than I thought or you take the stories way too literally.” Sam smiled.

“Shut up, idiot.”

“That’s classy, insult the guy who kept you from needing a fainting couch.” Sam bumped him with his shoulder, not hard, and Dean cracked his own smile. There was still that edge of concern in his eyes, but he carried on. “I make the food in this house. I do the laundry. I clean. And this is the respect I get?”

“You do realize that makes you the wife, right?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Oh, so big shot feminist Sammy thinks only women belong in the kitchen?” Sam still felt tense. A little too raw. But that was okay. Dean had seen him at worse, gotten him through worse. Dean’s voice got more serious. “You good to go?”

No. “Yeah, I’m fine.” His brother raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Dean. Go check on Cas.” Dean stood to leave the room. He stopped one more time at the doorway.

“Just-” He paused. “If you’re not fine-”

“Dean.”

“Look, promise to tell me. Okay?”

“I promise.” Dean relaxed. Like he honestly didn’t remember Sam making that promise to break it in the past. Like he hadn’t done the same. But that had only ever fucked them over, and they had to be better. They could be better. Sam promised, and this time, he meant it. “You need me to pinkie swear it, or are you satisfied?”

“Alright, alright, bitch.” Dean left the door wide open behind him.

“Close the- Jerk!” Sam called after him. He listened to the echo of Dean’s footsteps down the hall. Only when he couldn’t hear them anymore did he let out an exhausted sigh and got up. He needed a shower.

(He didn’t turn the knob far enough to make it even lukewarm. The cold reminded him where he was. Made him feel safe. He stayed under the water until he was shivering and didn’t regret it for a moment.)

~~~~

It was hardly the first time Sam had had flashbacks.

It wasn’t even the first time Lucifer had been the (inadvertent) cause.

Sam expected that he’d come back, they would pretend it never happened, and they’d carry on like normal without talking about it.

Lucifer didn’t come back.

~~~~

He drew the line at a week. A day or two, fine, they both needed space. Three days was strange, but Sam, unlike _some_ people, didn’t require an angel be attached to him at the hip at all times. He was fine. Really. Four days without a word was pushing it. Five left him pretending he definitely wasn’t checking news sites for mysterious destruction and death. Six was just starting to piss him off, and at seven? He was done playing the game.

At least there was someone in the Bunker who knew where Lucifer would be.

Dean always claimed there was no way to tell who was driving between Adam and Michael. Sam honestly didn’t know if he was joking or if it was only obvious to him. The person outside leaning against the Bunker’s railings was clearly Adam. He was tapping the metal in a garbled rendition of a pop song Sam had heard on the radio but couldn’t have named, and when he heard Sam approach, he swung around, leaning back.

“Uh. Hey?” Sam said, awkwardly. Adam was... complicated. On the one hand, he’d been there in the Cage with Sam (Michael had protected him, Adam had let Michael protect him, and if Adam saw horrors in Hell, than at least he’d never had to confuse Michael for the source.) and he also knew exactly how overwhelming it was like to be the center of an archangel’s attention, whether you asked for it or not. On the other, Sam and Dean had still left Adam behind, and despite his insistence that it was fine, over, done with, Sam still caught a bitter look in his eyes when he got reminded of what he’d lost.

“Hey.” He nodded at Sam, waited, and kept talking when Sam didn’t know how to continue. “The Bunker scrambles up angel radio pretty bad. Michael wanted a clear signal.” Adam smiled and waved a hand. “Plus, fresh air, sunlight, that’s supposed to be good for humans.” Adam winced and corrected himself, quietly. “For people.”

“How’s it going?” Sam asked, and Adam leapt on the chance to move past his mistake.

“As far as I can tell? Poorly.” He made a face. “Half of them are running scared, half of them of them remember what happened the last time anyone trusted an archangel. Most of them think this whole mess is Michael’s fault. It upsets hi- Yes, it does. Don’t argue with me when I’m talking to someone.” Sam gave him a look. “Sorry. What I’m saying is, situation unchanged: still fucked up.” There was a moment, where Adam’s head tilted slightly and he sat up a little straighter. Small, barely noticeable changes. “How is your relationship with Lucifer?”

“Michael.” The face that belonged to Adam frowned in a way Adam never did. Michael was not very good at subtlety.

“If you want to know where he is, then I’m allowed to ask what you did to drive him away.” Sam wanted to protest that he hadn’t even asked yet, and that he really didn’t deserve to be interrogated over it. At least Michael wasn’t going to threaten to skin him. Not explicitly. Adam probably wouldn’t let him do that. Probably.

“So you do know. Where he’s gone, I mean.” Michael shifted, drew himself up. Adam was not that tall. Sam should not feel like the shorter person in this conversation.

“I lost my brother once. I don’t intend to again.” Michael’s mouth twitched and he backed down a little, intensity lowering. Whatever Adam just told him, Sam was grateful. “You _are_ good for him, Sam. I know better than most that Lucifer can be... difficult. He is trying very hard to be something you could love.” There was a certainty in his voice that knocked Sam off-balance. “I only ask you to try.”

“I-” Michael leaned back, and Adam rubbed at the bridge of his nose, making a frustrated noise.

“Sure, leave me to deal with the fallout.”

“I do love him-”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Adam said, “I get it. Trust me.”

“Is he... going to tell me where Lucifer is?” Adam went quiet for a few moments, tapping the railing again.

“Right now?” Sam nodded. “Not sure how much good that will do.”

“Please.”

“The moon.”

“What?”

“Angels, Sam.”

“Is he going to come back?” Adam shrugged.

“When he’s ready. He- huh.” Adam smirked. “Michael says he goes up there to pout. And that not all of those craters were made by meteors. Meteoroids. Whatever, Mike, the point is that your brother likes to blast holes in the moon when he’s brooding and that’s hilarious.” Adam wasn’t really looking at him anymore. Sam started to inch away quietly. Adam was grinning, talking to Michael aloud, which was not half as disconcerting as it had been the first time Sam or Dean saw him do it. Mostly, he just looked happy. At ease. And Sam was only a little (a lot) jealous of that.

~~~~

Sam was burning alive.

Or this was another fever. At some point, it didn’t matter. The pain came, unrelenting, no matter how he twisted on the bed. He’d kicked the blankets off, too hot, and buried his face in a pillow again until it muffled the sounds he was making. If Dean heard, he’d stay with Sam the whole night, and he couldn’t keep doing that. Dean needed to rest almost as much as Sam did, and if he could just prove it, to himself and his brother, that he could make it through the night without help...

But oh god, he burned.

He wasn’t aware of another presence. His own breathing was all he could hear, loud and ragged and he needed to calm down, _quiet_. When the bed dipped next to him, he flinched, but then something cold draped over his body. There was no texture to it, only weight and blessed cool relief that made Sam want to sob. His eyes stayed dry, his throat sore like he was parched, and that would make sense, if he’d been sweating into the bed for... for however long he’d been alone. He reached up to touch what was pressing down on him, and his hand passed through it like air. The grounding pressure of it did not abate, but he couldn’t find it. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing there, nothing but a hand against his shoulder. He followed it with his eyes, mind hazy but unsettled, until he was looking up at Lucifer in the dark.

“You came back,” Sam said, tried to say, but the words were messy, like they were too big for his mouth and he’d forced them out anyway. Lucifer came closer, as though he was sure now that Sam wasn’t going to pull away. When he shifted, the unknown weight went with him, but it stayed on top of Sam, soothing him. He should have felt pinned, but it didn’t resist him whenever he tried to move.

“Where else could I go?” He brushed sweat-slick hair out of Sam’s face, frowned like Sam’s suffering was a personal insult. “I will always return to you.”

“Being creepy again,” Sam said, automatic, because he was allowed to tease at Lucifer’s intensity. He’d accepted it, accepted a whole lot of things, and so it only eased Lucifer’s frown into something fonder.

“It’s called sincerity, actually,” he said as he pulled Sam up into a sitting position. The cold under his skin was less unnerving these days, more of a comfort. Probably because this wasn’t the first time he’d come to help Sam through the night and wouldn’t be the last. If it kept up, Sam would be salivating at the sound of his wings like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and... That was definitely one of those weird thoughts he could blame on the fever. His fingers ran through Sam’s hair one last time before pulling away. A second later, there was a glass insistently pushing at his mouth and an ordered, “Drink.” Sam would be a lot more embarrassed if not for the fact that he’d spent the first week after the Trials barely able to lift his own arms. He could probably hold his own cup now, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

“So,” he started, coughed, and tried again. “So, how was the moon?” Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

“Michael.”

“I got worried.” Sam said. “You just-” He made a ‘poof’ gesture with one hand. “Without a word.”

“I gave you several words. You weren’t in any state to hear them.” Sam was going to use the excuse that Lucifer was nice and cool to get away with scooting closer to him, if he asked. He did not.

“Sorry.”

“Sam.” There was a lot in his name, but most of it was tired. “Only one of us is going to apologize tonight. It isn’t you.” Sam frowned. The pain, the heat, all of that was receding now, going from deadly to bearable.

“You needed nine days to figure out how to say ‘I’m sorry’?” Lucifer’s hand was back in his hair, petting absently. It was... nice.

“For you. It has to be true, and there are so many things...” He trailed off. “I’m not very good at this.”

“No,” Sam conceded, “but keep trying.”

“Jo and Ellen Harvelle. I’m sorry for their deaths.” Sam looked up at him, honestly surprised. “I have always listened to you, Sam. I know their names. I know how much it hurt you.” Sam could remember, clearly, the nights afterwards where Lucifer had tried to visit him in his sleep. Sam had raged at him with every ounce of grief he felt. It had powered him for nearly two weeks before he’d gone back to ignoring everything Lucifer said or did. “When Michael and I have fixed what’s left of Heaven and secured the souls kept there, they could be brought back.”

“You know that wouldn’t change what happened, right?”

“Yes. But you would have your family back.” Sam reached out and put a hand on Lucifer’s thigh, squeezed weakly.

“Keep going.”

“I tried to make you hate your brother. I’m sorry.” Another slow glide of fingers through Sam’s hair. He felt as far from terrified as he could possibly get. “I’m glad I failed. You saved us all by loving him. You saved me, even if I didn’t understand yet.” There was a memory, clear as crystal in Sam’s mind, of Dean, broken and bloody beneath him. Of him, resisting, he would never hurt Dean, _never_ , and the blizzard of Lucifer’s grace that had surrounded him, stopping, snowflakes midfall and Sam had taken advantage of that moment of shock to throw them down, all four of them, right into the fire.

“I took you as my vessel. I would have locked you away for the rest of time.” He lifted Sam’s hand and kissed the back of his knuckles. “The irony of that doesn’t escape me. My Father has a sick sense of humor.” Sam twined their fingers together. “I’m sorry.”

“You still think about it?” Lucifer looked down at their hands.

“You were my vessel,” he told Sam, “and now I have no idea what you are to me.” He looked back at Sam.

“That’s not an answer, Luce.”

“Yes. I wish it was still that simple. I don’t enjoy uncertainty.” Sam squeezed his hand, silent permission to continue. “I’m sorry that I am something you have to fear.” Sam frowned, pushed himself up. The weight traveled with him, blanketing him in his new position.

“That part isn’t on you. The Cage did that.” Sam argued.

“There’s a reason it wore my face.” Lucifer snapped back, then sighed, lifted his hand to stroke Sam’s hair again. Sam allowed it. “I promised once that I would never hurt you, but I had a very limited view of what pains mattered, then. Let me promise again?” Sam nodded, slowly but without hesitating. “Sam Winchester, I swear that I will never hurt you, I will never lie to you, and if I do, make sure Dean follows through on his threats.” His voice went from solemn to mischievous, and Sam chuckled.

“For a minute there, that almost sounded like a marriage vow.” Lucifer hummed, settling closer to Sam.

“That comes later.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I just promised never to lie to you, Sam.” The angle was awkward, but Sam had to reach over and pull him down into a kiss. An easy, wonderful kiss.

“Hey, Luce,” he asked, yawning and falling back to his comfy spot on the mattress against his angel’s side. “What’s with the blanket?”

“The bl-” Lucifer was frowning, and Sam gestured as best he could to the thing he could not see or touch, but that was definitely there. “Oh.” It lifted, and Sam automatically reached for it.

“Hey!”

“I thought you wanted it gone,” Lucifer said, but the weight returned, gentle and cool and grounding.

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“A wing.” Sam tried to touch it again, holy shit, an angel wing, _his angel’s wing_. His touch still went right through. “Stop that. It’s not corporeal.”

“Does it hurt?” Sam withdrew his hand.

“No. It... itches.” The weight twitched across Sam’s skin as if to emphasize the word.

“Ticklish?”

“Go to sleep.” Sam grinned.

“Could it be coporeal?”

“I will gladly explain the metaphysics to you once the sun is up.” The wing pressed down, not uncomfortably. Sam closed his eyes, still smiling. He wasn’t going to be able to stay awake even if he wanted to. His body was exhausted from pain and fever, and his head was still spinning with all Lucifer had said. But... tomorrow. They’d deal with it tomorrow. He relaxed, let his mind slip until his thoughts were foggy trains to nowhere. “Sleep, Sam. I’m watching over you.”

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> *banging my pots and pans outside the cw* look what you did, you fucked up lucifer's writing and now i've got to fix all of it, i get no sleep because of you and now you get no sleep because of me!
> 
> in all seriousness, i wrote the first 6-ish paragraphs of this on a whim and then it. Uh. Grew. so thanks for reading all of this nonsense ^_^


End file.
